


You're The Cream In My Coffee- And The Goddamn Song In My Head

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Body Image, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, Mild references to PTSD, Morning Kisses, Post-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles, half infected!Paul, very mild body horror elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: “-gotta cup o’ coffee brewin’ and it’s gonna be-Emma!”“Mornin’, Mariah,” Emma greeted with some lazy finger guns.Blushing, Paul ducked his head guiltily. “Shit. I was doing it again, right?”“Yeah.”“I’m sorry.”“It’s fine.”“It’s…” he laughed, sounding brittle. “It isn’t. But thanks for pretending. Uh. Coffee?”In which Emma mourns what never was, and basks in what finally is.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 22
Kudos: 182





	You're The Cream In My Coffee- And The Goddamn Song In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Yo it's me, here for some TGWDLM fic that literally no one fucking asked for.
> 
> Cards on the table, I'm not sure I'm crazy happy with this. I literally wrote it today, start to finish, and I thought about holding onto it longer to get it to where i think it could be, but the whole point was to just scribble down something light and easy and self-contained instead of getting bogged down in more long/intensive fics, so I'm just gonna throw it out there.
> 
> This sort of ties in with a post-show fic I'm working on, so that will get us to where the characters are here (i.e. living together in Colorado with a traumatised but recovering Emma and a half-infected Paul), but this works as a little stand alone. Basically all you need to know is that the entire show happened as is except for the last scene/Inevitable, Emma got set up in Colorado while Paul, injured and infected, had to do most of his recovery strapped to a hospital bed. But they're together now and living a comfy little life, just like they deserve <3
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Y’know, you'd really be better off at Starbucks.” Black coffee, the usual, so familiar she didn't even have to check which pot she was reaching for. “I'm not gonna be offended.”_

_Since she didn't need to check the pot, she could watch every little microexpression on Paul's face. She kinda had to- he was so damn_ careful _about what he let his face do_ , _sometimes. Not all the time, but today he looked strained. Hard day at the office, he'd said. Just another reason to go get_ good _coffee, someplace he didn't have to go out of his way for._

_He shrugged, and even though he looked so exhausted he could've just answered with a nonverbal grunt, he made the effort to smile. It was kinda tired, kinda thin, but warm. “I like it here.”_

_Snorting, Emma tipped some shitty black coffee into a travel cup. “Whatever, man- I just figured you could get a better pick-me-up than this shit.”_

_“I am.”_

_She looked up at him, bewildered, and found him averting his eyes and blushing furiously. “Oh, yeah?”_

_He was_ clearly _uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Yeah.”_

_Didn't look like she was getting anything else outta him. She rolled her eyes and closed up the cup, hoping the crappy lid didn't leak. Not that she'd care, usually, but some people were too nice to spill coffee over. “One black coffee- shaken, not stirred,” she teased, holding it out._

_He had the cash ready immediately, as always. As well as a five dollar tip, which he didn't put in the jar ‘til he looked around to check that none of Emma’s coworkers were around to burst into song. She almost wanted to laugh- except there was that twist in her gut that told her she'd hate it just as much as he would. It was weird and powerful and nearly took her breath away, so she focused on giving Paul his coffee with a steady hand. The warm brush of his fingers against hers helped, sorta. There was something_ grounding _about Paul. Which was probably a weird thing to say about a customer, but what the hell. She got the feeling he wouldn't care- the way his blush deepened when their fingers touched was a pretty solid clue that he might even like it._

_Smirking, Emma didn't miss a beat swiping the bill from the tip jar. Paul, satisfied that he'd gone through the motions of putting it there, smiled as it went into the pocket it was intended for. All part of their dance._

_“You going back to work?” asked Emma, grabbing a cloth and needlessly wiping down the counter. She was kind of an expert at pretending to give a shit about her job._

_Paul, with a face like he was sucking a lemon (but maybe that was just the coffee), nodded. “Yeah. Charlotte’s out sick, so we've kinda got our work cut out for us.”_

_Emma, who'd been covering for Zoey since she came down with strep last week, winced in sympathy. “Ugh, that sucks.”_

_“Yeah- it's like, die on your own time, right?”_

_She laughed. She couldn't help it- when Paul got past his shyness, it was kinda hard not to get suckered in by his dumb jokes and dumb cute smile. “Right? Fuckin’_ rude.”

_Paul’s face softened, and after a moment’s hesitation he pointed at hers. “There.”_

_Blinking, Emma reached up to touch her lips. “Do I have something on my face?”_

_“No, it's…” he shrugged again, and he looked like he regretted saying anything but he was too stubborn to back down. She could relate. “I mean, uh. That's the pick-me-up. Right there.” A slow, surprised smile spread across Emma’s face, and Paul's eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah. That’s the one.”_

_Emma forgot about pretending to clean, throwing the towel over her shoulder and crossing her arms. “So,_ not _the shitty coffee?”_

_“It's not…” he paused, considering, wrinkling his nose a little. “Okay, the coffee’s not great.”_

_She laughed. Oh, she_ liked _this. Paul with a little bit of confidence was fuckin’ cute as hell. “Yeah, no shit.”_

_“It's kinda cold.”_

_“And bitter? Yeah, it's been in that pot like, two days.”_

_“Delicious.” He didn't even look mad. Actually, he looked like he was having the most fun he'd had in months. Which was kind of a sad thought, but good for her- she was having a great time, too._

_“Yeah. This place is a dump. Swear to god, one day I'm gonna go someplace I never have to make a goddamn coffee ever again.”_

_He smiled slightly, those big blue eyes looking at her all soft and shit. “I hope you don't go too far.”_

_A part of her wanted to say she planned to. That she would literally rather make shitty coffee every day of her life in fucking Clivesdale than die in Hatchetfield._

_But wherever she pictured herself in five years- stuck here, stuck someplace else, or away on her dream pot farm- somehow, it wasn't hard to picture Paul there, too._

_“I won't.”_

_He grinned like a dork and said something else. It was hard to make out, though, over the music._

_Music? When did…?_

_Ah, fuck._.

* * *

Emma slowly blinked awake, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the drapes. She was pretty used to getting the hell out of her dreams once the singing started- normally she could do it before the cold sweats really got going. Looked like she'd escaped with minimal grossness this time, too. It must be early; the sun was low and her alarm was silent. She could hear _something_ though, distantly. Something that made her pulse race.

_“Blaaaack coffee, I'm your coffee guy-”_

Oh. Right.

Gulping and shaking her head, Emma kicked off the covers and rolled out of bed. She wasn't gonna get back to sleep anyway. Barefoot, she padded down the hall, the soft voice growing louder with every step. She had to fight down the familiar edge of panic, but that was fine. She knew he couldn't help it. Besides, that voice wasn't the only thing getting stronger; the mouthwatering smell of honest to god _good coffee_ was pretty strong incentive to keep on walking.

When she reached the end of the hall she hovered there, peeking round the edge of the door, heart in her throat despite her best efforts. Her pulse calmed when she saw him, even though the singing didn’t stop.

Paul stood over a steaming French press, fingers tapping out the beat to his song on the coffee mugs next to it. His hair looked soft and sleep-ruffled, his eyes were kinda droopy. His comfy sleep shirt and pants were finally starting to hug his frame a little better, after months of looking like they were hanging off of a skeleton. And his lips were moving, shaping lyrics that he didn’t even look like he was processing.

 _“-gotta cup o’ coffee brewin’ and it’s gonna be-_ Emma!”

“Mornin’, Mariah,” Emma greeted with some lazy finger guns.

Blushing, Paul ducked his head guiltily. “Shit. I was doing it again, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s…” he laughed, sounding brittle. “It isn’t. But thanks for pretending. Uh. Coffee?”

Emma nodded and walked over, crossing her arms and shivering as her bare feet touched the cold kitchen tile.

He noticed and smiled wryly as he picked up the pot. “You know that’s what slippers are for, right?”

She thought of her slippers wistfully- the super plush green ones Paul bought her for Christmas last year, probably still under the bed in the room she'd just left. “Forgot.”

“Go grab ‘em- coffee’s gonna be here when you get back.”

“It’s cool.” Perching on a stool at the kitchen island, Emma smiled deviously and planted her cold feet on Paul’s leg. “I’m good.”

It was kind of a shitty substitute for the slippers- Paul didn’t run so hot anymore, less of a space heater and more of a lukewarm rock in indirect sunlight. But it was better than the tiles, and it was worth it for the way he ducked his head and chuckled as he poured their drinks. Up close, Emma could see the things that were easy to ignore at a distance. Like the way that smile was tinged with blue at the seam of his lips, just like the skin at his hairline or his cheeks when he blushed. Like the same shade in his eyes, bleeding out past the regular blue of his irises and into the whites and marbling them. All the little things that she caught him staring at in the mirror anxiously, that he sometimes stole her concealer for when he wanted to pretend he was just like he used to be.

“Sleep well?” He asked quietly, tapping her foot until she lowered it so he could go grab the milk.

“Yeah.” She watched his progress to the refrigerator thoughtfully. He was still limping, obviously- but a nice butt was a nice butt, period. “I was dreaming.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, cautiously. “Was it… a good dream?”

“Yeah. Actually, it was.” She plonked her elbow on the counter so she could lean her head on her hand. “”It was about Beanies.”

“You sure it was good?”

She snorted. “‘Kay, fair. But yeah, it was. It… okay. Guess it wasn’t really _about_ Beanies. It was more about…”

He turned to her, milk and sugar in hand, head cocked curiously.

Emma blushed, and tried to cover it by rolling her eyes. “Fine, it was about you, alright?”

Paul looked pleasantly, adorably surprised. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really.” She shrugged. “I was working, you showed up. We flirted. I woke up.”

He smiled, sitting on the next barstool and carefully portioning milk and sugar into her coffee. “Sounds nice.”

It was. And in a less sucky world, it would’ve actually happened. Maybe there’s some alternate universe out there where the singing zombie aliens never happened, or where Paul and Emma just got talking a little sooner than the literal day before the world ended, and in that universe they actually got to have days like that dream. Talking, flirting, bitching about coffee. Maybe Paul would’ve asked her out, eventually- or Emma would’ve figured out he’d never pluck up the courage and done it her damn self. Maybe they’d get to trading kisses across the counter with their coffee, Emma rolling her eyes at Paul’s giant tips that he kept leaving even though they both knew he was paying for dinner later.

But she never got to have that. Because civilisation fucking collapsed. Figures.

Paul slid her drink across the counter towards her, the fragrant steam tickling her nose. She cupped her hands around it automatically, cuddling the heat to her chest. “Thanks.”

He smiled and sipped his own coffee. It was definitely too hot for human consumption right now, but that wasn’t really a big issue for him anymore. Besides, he always did hate shitty lukewarm coffee. Well, she figured he did- he’d never actually _said_ that in real life, just in dream-banter, but it seemed like a safe guess.

That wasn’t the only bit of their dream conversation that sprung to mind. Emma frowned. “Hey. You always make the coffee.”

Paul blinked at her. “Uh. Yes?”

“I don’t ask you to.”

“I like to.”

“I don’t think I’ve made a single cup of coffee since you moved in.”

“Do you _want_ to make the coffee?”

She snorted. _“Fuck_ no.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

“It’s just, like. We never discussed it or anything- you just started making coffee and never stopped.”

Paul ran his hand through his hair, smiling shyly. “Yeah, well… I figured you’d probably had enough of making coffee for people. I dunno. Seemed like the obvious thing to do.”

 _It would to you,_ Emma thought fondly, biting her lip. “Hey, Paul?”

She didn’t actually give him the chance to answer. Instead she hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged him down, close enough to drop a kiss to his surprised lips. He made a little startled noise, his eyebrows flying up, but he didn’t pull away. Once he’d had a moment to process he was right there with her, resting his hands on her knees as he kissed her back, slow and sweet and safe. It was kinda his style and she fuckin’ loved it.

And a better pick-me-up than a cup of coffee, guaranteed.

* * *

It was a normal start to a normal day. Neither of them would go anywhere new or do anything crazy. Most controversial thing they would do was smoke a joint on the couch at two p.m; but when you literally live adjacent to four acres of home-grown pot, that's no more interesting than snacking on cookie dough. Their kind of normal was probably boring to a lot of people, and that was fair.

But it was _Emma's_ normal. And it was a normal that involved drinking good coffee that she didn't have to make, melting into the couch and watching shitty daytime TV with the literal guy of her dreams.

"Okay?" Paul would ask softly, voice listing dangerously close to melodic.

Sighing, Emma would curl into his side and close her eyes. "'Kay."

And she would feel his fingers playing with her hair, and listen to his soft, unconscious humming, and let it lull her into a couch nap for the fucking ages.

Basically, normal fucking _ruled._

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at writing these characters, plz be nice!
> 
> I have no idea if the big fic that spwaned this will ever see the light of day- I've got a lot more to write, and if Black Friday comes out and changes my mind about what happened after TGWDLM I might lose interest in writing it. But yeah, might be a thing sometime, watch this space! And even if it isn't I'll hopefully get round to some more bits and pieces of Paulkins here and there- I wouldn't mind dabbling in Emma and Hidgens' relationship, too.
> 
> If you liked this I'd love to hear from you in the comments, or on tumblr @dont-offend-the-bees if you just wanna chat about this show/this AU! I'm in a lot of dead/dying fandoms atm so I get a little starved for feedback and meaningful interaction at times lmao
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
